


The Rainbow

by BlueCaty



Series: Midnight Writings [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Childhood Memories, Nature, Other, Short One Shot, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCaty/pseuds/BlueCaty
Summary: This is a series of one-shots, little stories I do, following a challenge I take part in. I want to practice my writing in any way that I can, so feel free to drop comments with constructive criticism. Or just enjoy it, it's up to you.
Series: Midnight Writings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097924
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	The Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: description of suicide by drowning, not very graphic, but clear enough.

I feel tired. We have been walking all morning following the tourist’s path toward the ancient ruins. The people from my group are getting more and more impatient, chatting loudly, as we stopped, again, to draw breath and to prepare for the last part of the trail. It’s said to be a steep hike until we reach the temple. I hear them somewhere above me, as I have descended into a kind of grotto, following the small stream that crossed our path. Only that instead of stone ceilings I find myself surrounded by a dense thicket and wide palm leaves glistening in the humid atmosphere.

The stream falls in a thin curtain over the rocky wall, rapping into a small pond at my feet, before continuing its course further, deeper, into the lush forest. I kneel and run my fingers through the cold water, splash my face, and drink from my hands in an attempt to ease this heat. My clothes are stuck to my back from sweat and my shoes turned reddish-brown from the mud covering the forest floor. I feel the trees breathing around me, in this sheltered place, and for a moment I am tempted to lie down on the ground. I would go to sleep and let myself become one with the soil. I would let the vines and the hanging plants grow over me, weave a green blanket over my body until they would completely cover me. I would get lost in an endless dream, never to wake up, feeding this alive tropical creature that allows us to ruffle its paths and steal pictures of its relics. 

Fighting the drowsiness, I raise to my feet and notice the sunshine made its way down here, a tiny rainbow arching its colors over the water curtain. Something clicks in my mind and I am transported back in time, as flashes of many other rainbows reel in the back of my eyes, like an old movie. I hate these little colorful arches that seem to follow me everywhere. 

I was barely six years old when my mother disappeared in the waves of the river flowing behind our house. Strange how we can only remember bits and pieces from the past and not the whole picture. I can remember her dress and her straw hat, her lipstick, and the soft pink color of her fingernails. But I cannot remember her eyes. 

She smiled and stroked my hair, telling me to remain home and wait for dad. I thought she was going into town, she was dressed all nice and she had put on makeup. She glowed. I remember she kissed my forehead and I bowed my head, anxious to get away faster and go play outside. Strange thing how I can remember thinking the color of my shoes was the same as her lips, a bright coral red as if she had painted them with the brushes and paints from her makeup kit as a surprise for me. 

As soon as she left, I snuck through the back door and got out in the yard, going straight for the swing hanging from the old tree. The swing was wet as it had just rained, but I didn’t care. I swung up and down, higher and higher, feeling the thrill in my stomach when I was up, the tree foliage and the clouds in the sky dancing like a merry-go-round before my eyes. Suddenly I saw it. The column of a rainbow sprouting from between the scattered clouds. I stopped and climbed down from the swing, wanting to see where the colors ended, but the rest of it was still hidden. I started running over the field, downhill, chasing the colors, until I reached the banks of the river. 

The rain had swollen the waters, which were now rustling in murky waves, carrying downstream debris from the shore. I forgot about the rainbow when I saw my mother walking toward the middle of the river, the water already up to her waist, her back turned to me, her straw hat gone. She had a green dress and coral lips. I don’t remember calling her, as I stood there, rooted on the spot, as a strange fear gripped my heart in an iron fist. She kept walking forward, struggling to stand against the force of the currents, as the water rode up to her chest. Then she disappeared. A wave washed over her in a blink of an eye. I stayed there, waiting to see her resurface, not knowing as a child that her body would appear downstream, much later and much too late. I still watched the spot where she had vanished. 

Since that moment, I hated the rainbows. They keep appearing in my path, wherever I go. I find myself always running from them, only to end up in a foreign place such as this one, surrounded by green and brown, attracted to waters in any form and being ironically closer and closer to the very thing I hate. I stick my hand in my pocket and brush over the tiny rectangular container I carry with me everywhere like a memento. I wish I could remember her eyes.


End file.
